by Helen Brooks
'Not one.' She softened the refusal with a smile as she added, 'I know it would probably be all right, but I want to do everything I can to make sure the baby is okay.'
He looked at her for a long moment, and then her heart began to pound as he bent forward, stroking the palm of his hand against her cheek, his voice very soft as he said, 'This baby doesn't know how lucky it is.'
Oh, no, no, she couldn't bear this, and more to combat the wild longing and painful desire that had flared in her at his touch her voice was tart as she jerked her head away, saying, 'Hardly. I can think of more auspicious starts to life than having parents who are already divorced.'
'We aren't,' Zac said grimly, the tender expression wiped off his face as though by magic. 'Not by a long chalk.'
'As near as dammit,' she persisted defiantly.
Hell! How could she look so beautiful, so soft and vulnerable, and be so damn stubborn? Zac asked himself furiously, but he forced his voice to sound cool and calm when he said, 'Doesn't it make any difference what I think? I don't want a divorce, Tory.'
'No, I don't suppose you do,' she agreed shortly.
'What does that mean?' He kept his face bland and amiable.
'You have everything you want if we stay married, don't you?' Victoria said levelly. 'A dutiful wife, maybe a son and heir to carry on the illustrious Harding name, a lucrative business deal…' She couldn't bring herself to mention Gina's name.
'The business deal would have, and has, gone through whether we married or not,' Zac said with infuriating control. 'And I have never mixed business with pleasure, in; the deal wasn't relevant to us one way or the other. However—' he eyed her angry face calmly '—I didn't bring you out this afternoon to argue again.'
'No? Well, I'm sorry if I'm not behaving in line with what the great Zac Harding had envisaged,' Victoria shot back sharply.
A muscle twitched in Zac's square jaw. 'If you weren't pregnant you'd be over my knee by now,' he said grimly.
'In your dreams.' She didn't know why she was behaving like this—she was horrified at herself—but, once started, she seemed unable to stop.
'Ah, now, my dreams are a different story,' he said silkily.
He'd done it again—metamorphosed in front of her eyes, Victoria thought helplessly, the dark, sensual note to his voice and the glittering fire in his eyes telling her all too clearly what sort of dreams Zac had indulged in. The same sort she had.
'I'm not interested in having this sort of conversation—'
But it was too late. His hands had captured her face and his kiss was deep and passionate, his tongue plundering her mouth until she heard herself moaning in answer to his desire.
'You're gorgeous, do you know that?' he was whispering hotly against her mouth. 'Sexy and prim, sensual and timid all at the same time. You turn me on, little mother. You turn me on like crazy… Kiss me, Tory. Tell me you want me; say it.'
His mouth had moved to cover her face in tiny scorching kisses, her closed eyelids, her nose, her ears, her throat all coming under his expert ministrations until she was panting and fluid in his arms. She'd always loved his kisses—he did them so well.
She gasped as his thumbs rubbed over her jutting nipples, his touch causing her to tremble helplessly as burning tremors of desire snaked down every nerve in her body, and he caught the gasp with his mouth, answering it with a growl of passion.
What was she doing? What was she doing? Victoria arched away on the Dralon-upholstered two-seater settee but Zac followed her, leaning over her quivering form as he kissed her again, his lips as sweet as honey and his caresses taking her into a liquid, golden world of pure pleasure.
'I want you, Tory. I want you so badly I can taste it.'
'You don't… I can't…'
She wasn't making sense, but he seemed to understand her incoherent mumblings anyway, kneeling astride her as he began to undo the tiny pearl buttons of her dress, his voice soothing but his hands shaking as he said, 'I do and you can, sweetheart, you can. You're mine, Tory…'
The deep red curtains in the boat's saloon had been closed when they had come aboard, and now the bright summer sunshine outside their cosy idyll cast a soft pink glow over the furnishings as Victoria jerked upright, her hands shooting out in a flailing motion that caused Zac to lose his balance and fall in a crashing heap on the floor. Mine. This was still all about possession, control.
Victoria scrambled to her feet, her hands clutching at her gaping dress, and then they stilled, her body stiffening, as she realised Zac wasn't moving. In fact he was ominously still.
'Zac?' She looked down at his big body, strangely vulnerable in its crumpled state. 'Zac, are you all right?' He still didn't move, and then, to her horror, she saw the trickle of blood on his forehead. 'Zac!'
Her shriek must have done the trick, because in the next moment he stirred slightly, his eyelids flickering.
'Zac, Zac—oh, I'm sorry—what have I done…?'
Victoria wasn't aware she was sobbing out loud until a pair of dazed black eyes looked into hers, and a very un-Zac-like weak voice said, 'What the hell hit me?'
'The corner of the cupboard, I think,' Victoria managed shakily through her tears. 'Oh, Zac, I'm sorry.'
'Damn it all, Tory…' He struggled into a sitting position as she knelt at his side, her arms going to support his shoulders. 'The next time you want to say no, could you just say it? Without the physical abuse?' he added somewhat shakily.
His voice was wry, but there was a certain amount of manly embarrassment in the dry tones that made her all the more guilty. But she hadn't meant to knock him out, Victoria reassured herself hotly. Of course she hadn't. It had been an accident, that was all. She'd just reacted out of fear and panic.
'Shall…shall I call a doctor?' she asked tentatively.
Apparently it was the worse thing she could have said if the scathing glance from those jet-black eyes was anything to go by. 'No, thank you.' It was said with a hefty amount of dignity that spoke volumes about hurt male pride.
'Let me help you up,' Victoria fussed frantically. 'Please, Zac.'
She wasn't making it any better, she could tell from the way he closed his eyes for an infinitesimal moment before he said, with a remarkable lack of expression, 'I can manage perfectly well, Victoria. I've had a small bang on the head, that's all.' But then, as he rose to his feet and his face went white, her arms went round him anyway before he shrugged her off and stepped through the door into the fresh air of the large rear sundeck.
She watched him breathe deeply for a few seconds before she said, her voice quivering, 'Shall I get you a drink?'
'Please.' And his voice was more Zac-like as he added, his tone dark and sardonic, 'And I don't want a soft drink in case you're wondering. I'll force a glassful of that excellent champagne down. They tell me there's nothing like it when you've been beaten up by the woman in your life.'
'I didn't lay a hand on you,' Victoria protested quickly, utterly mortified he was making her out to be some sort of female thug.
'I don't know if that makes it worse or better.'
It was Zac who opened the bottle of champagne, and Victoria joined him in a small glass of the delicious, effervescent wine because she felt she needed something stronger than fresh orange juice. The sight of his still body lying at her feet was something she would never forget until her dying day, she thought soberly as Zac started the engine—despite her protestation that he should take it easy for the rest of the day—and pulled out into the river. He had looked so…helpless.
Victoria was as tense as a coiled spring for the first part of the afternoon, but then, as the mellow warmth of the late summer day and Zac's easy and congenial conversation began to work its magic, she began to relax and enjoy herself.
He allowed her to clean the cut on his forehead when they stopped late in the day to eat, but he made no effort to touch her again—not that she could blame him, Victoria thought wryly—his attitude one of friendly affection and nothing
more. It suited her, it was exactly what she wanted, Victoria told herself firmly, but still—ridiculously—it hurt.
Dusk was blazing across the sky in a river of scarlet and gold when they eventually returned to the mooring, turning the evening shadows into deep, night-washed mauve and burnt orange.
Victoria had enjoyed herself—too much—and the self-knowledge made her voice cool and stiff as she thanked Zac for the day out with a very formal little speech that made his eyes twinkle.
'The pleasure was ail mine.' He smiled lazily, his big body silhouetted against the night sky.
'And…and I am sorry about what happened earlier,' Victoria added, his magnanimity putting her to shame.
'Think nothing of it.' He bent forward, so close she could smell the warm summer fragrance of his clean male skin, and kissed her lightly on the lips before straightening as he said mockingly, 'There's no gain without pain; isn't that what they say?'
'You haven't gained anything,' Victoria pointed out quietly.
'The pleasure of a day in your company?' he suggested evenly. 'I like being with you, Tory. I always have. That's gain enough.'
He liked being with Gina too.
For a moment Victoria thought she had said the words out loud, but then, when his face didn't change, she knew she hadn't voiced the cry from her heart. And it would be pointless anyway.
Some men never settled down with just one woman— look at her father. Linda Ward had been his mistress for years, and there had probably been others before her, Victoria thought a trifle bitterly. But she wasn't like her mother. There was no way she could accept or tolerate another woman in Zac's life.
'You like being with a lot of people.' It wasn't quite what she wanted to say, but the thought of another confrontation now, after the wonderful afternoon and evening they had shared, was too much. Somewhere, some time, the rows had to stop.
'No, I never have, and still less since I met you,' Zac said softly. 'But you don't believe that yet You will believe it, but you're not there yet. But I can wait.'
'Zac, I'm not a fool.' Victoria's good intentions to part amicably went out of the window. 'And I don't think this is wise, us meeting like this. It doesn't do either of us any good.'
'Why?' The charming companion guise was slipping a bit, Victoria noted as his face hardened and his eyes narrowed. 'Are you afraid you like it too much?'
He had hit the nail right on the head, but she managed to keep all trace of it from showing in her face, her voice very cool as she retorted, 'Don't be ridiculous.'
'You're always saying that, aren't you?' Zac said reflectively. They had reached the car, Victoria leaning against the passenger door as they had spoken, and now he put a hand either side of her, not quite touching her as he leant forward again and looked hard into her eyes. ' 'Don't be silly, Zac. Stop. I can't, you mustn't…' '
'Don't be—' She stopped abruptly, blushing helplessly as one black eyebrow rose in derisive silent comment.
'See?' His elbows unlocked, and now his thighs were within a hair's breadth, the faint but intoxicating scent of him all around her. 'Timid Tory, always ready to retreat into that little cast-iron shell of yours where no one can touch you. But I did touch you, didn't I, Mrs Harding? You agreed to become my wife, we had one consuming night of passion—'
'Before you got out of our bed to go and see another woman,' Victoria cut in feverishly. She had to stop this right now. He could charm the birds out of the trees, but she wasn't going to be taken in again. 'Look, Zac—' she breathed in deeply, willing her voice not to shake '—I meant what I said; this is not a good idea. It serves no useful purpose and it upsets us both.'
'On the contrary, my nervous little wife, it is an excellent idea,' Zac returned mockingly, 'and don't forget our meeting like this was part of the deal. The compromise,' he added with lazy softness. 'I've made concessions, plenty. I expect you to.'
She stared at him helplessly. 'You're not being fair—'
'Fair? What's fair?' It was quick and sharp, and told her the façade of lazy mockery was just that—a façade. 'When is life ever fair, Victoria? Was your being saddled with parents who should have been sterilised at birth fair? Or my mother dying before I was even in my teens? And was it fair to have to watch my father slowly killing himself with drink because he couldn't bear to be without her?' He stood upright, his face dark.
'Zac…' She stared at him, horrified by the revelations. 'You never told me; I didn't know.'
'There is a lot you don't know about me.' Funnily enough it was the same thought that had haunted her in the early days of their separation, but this put a different slant on it.
'How…how did your mother die?' she asked softly. He had mentioned his parents were both dead in the first whirlwind days of their courtship, but somehow the conversation had never gone deeper than that. They had lived in a rosy-coloured bubble, Victoria thought fleetingly. A bubble full of wonderful trips to the theatre, dances, expensive dinners out and such like, but they had never been alone much; they had hardly ever really talked.
'Giving birth to my sister.' Zac's voice was calm now, even expressionless, but he couldn't hide the pain in his eyes. 'There was a problem of some kind and she went into labour weeks early.'
'And?' Victoria pressed gently. 'What happened to her?'
'Not now, Tory. I'll tell you some other time.' For a moment she felt the rebuff like a slap across the face, and then, with lightning intuition, she understood. He didn't want to alarm her.
'It's all right, Zac, I'd prefer to hear now. It won't worry me,' she said firmly. 'This baby—' she touched her belly with a splayed hand '—is going to be fine, and so am I.'
He seemed about to refuse, and then he straightened away from her so his face was in profile as he looked towards the now silent river where the odd moored boat had lights within, faint laughter carrying on the soft night breeze now and again.
'She was beautiful, my mother,' he said softly. 'Beautiful and warm and loving, but she was never very strong. She was ill for months after my birth, apparently, and the doctors warned her it would be dangerous to have another child. But she was Italian—' his tone was rueful '—and to her big families were a way of life. I don't know if she persuaded my father to try for another child when I was ten, or if it was a genuine mistake, but, whatever, she paid with her life. The baby was stillborn, and despite all my father's wealth and the best doctors in England she followed some hours later. He went crazy, insane, he was like a man possessed, and my grandparents were so worried at the time, they took me away to live with them for a few weeks, until I insisted I go back.'
Victoria found the night was splintering with her tears and she blinked them away rapidly, her eyes focusing on the dark figure at the side of her as he continued to talk, his face hardening slightly as he said, 'The rage was gone from him but with it the will to live; he didn't know if I was there or not half the time. He began to drink—a bottle, two bottles of whisky a night and then some. The human body can't take that sort of systematic abuse. I remember I didn't cry at his funeral; I think I'd done all my crying in the years before.'
She couldn't bear the picture on the screen of her mind of a young ten-year-old Zac, just having lost the mother he clearly adored and then having to watch his father draw further and further away into a twilight world where no one could reach him.
'So…' The broad male shoulders shrugged, his voice steady with the evenness that spoke of rigid control. 'I became a very rich young man at the age of seventeen, which is not something I would recommend to anyone. I had a lot of anger in me, resentment, I suppose, and I behaved very badly for a time.'
'Oh, dear.' She managed a fairly wry response although her heart was bleeding for him. What a terrible tragedy.
'Quite.' The black eyes slanted at her as his mouth twisted in a wry smile. 'But I had one or two good friends and they weren't afraid to do some straight talking when it was necessary. Anyway, the wild young man bit finished, I took stock. My father's
business affairs were being run by a load of old women masquerading as financial wizards, but there wasn't one entrepreneur in the lot of them. There wasn't one guy who was prepared to take a risk or move out, and they'd lost my father tens of thousands over the years since my mother had died and he'd lost interest.'
'So you got rid of the lot of them,' Victoria stated evenly.
'How did you know?' he asked in surprise, his eyes narrowing.
'A wild guess.' She smiled slowly. 'Just a wild guess. So, I bet that went down wonderfully well?'
'How to win friends and influence people,' Zac agreed drily. 'But the clean sweep meant I started off with a bunch of people who did things my way, and I like that.' The narrowed gaze fastened on her face now, and the mocking note was back as he said, 'There are some who say I'm a megalomaniac.'
'Heaven forbid.' Her voice was equally mocking, and with an appreciative chuckle Zac opened the passenger door, settling her in before walking unhurriedly round the bonnet and sliding in himself whereupon he started the engine without another word.
They said very little on the drive back to Richmond, and Victoria wondered if Zac was regretting opening up the way he had. He was a very private man, she'd always known that, and strong, proud. He'd revealed a great deal today.
For her part, she had found the confidences about his childhood and turbulent youth had pierced that shell he had spoken of and left her feeling sad and confused with a burning desire to comfort him. Which was dangerous— very dangerous, especially as she wasn't at all sure that she wasn't being manipulated by a mind that was far more discerning—and ruthless—than hers.
It was quite dark by the time they reached Victoria's flat, and although the streets beyond were brightly lit and busy with Londoners enjoying the mellow summer evening the mews itself was quiet and still, the odd chink of light from curtained windows mingling with the old-fashioned street lamps the cobbled mews boasted.
The black velvet sky above dotted with hundreds of tiny twinkling stars, the faint scent of fresh flowers from the pretty little window boxes at every windowsill, and the overall quaint feel to the mews, was very romantic, Victoria thought warily as Zac walked with her to her front door. Had all his talk earlier been a softening-up process for this moment? Did he expect bed and breakfast to be on the cards? She wouldn't put it past him.